


vanity

by cyrusbarrone



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Oral Fixation, Voyeurism, and so does proko, its not REALLY proko/k, like kavinsky gets off to watching himself masturbate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 11:02:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11183769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyrusbarrone/pseuds/cyrusbarrone
Summary: Nothing turns Joseph Kavinsky on more than his own reflection.





	vanity

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on this headcanon by jiangplease (on tumblr) 'Kavinsky is so into himself his favourite thing to do is watch himself jerk off in front of a mirror (its proko’s favourite thing too)' because thats definitely a thing kavinsky has done AND i wanted to write something for this fandom because it's one of my favourites.
> 
> also, it's not REALLY that explicit but I didn't know if i should put it in mature or not lol 
> 
> anyway, enjoy ^^

His bed sheets hadn’t been cleaned in months; they stunk of boys and sex and alcohol. It was a heady scent, something Kavinsky found comforting and familiar; something he liked to press his nose into and breathe. He fisted his fingers in the sheet as he sat in front of his mirrors, and tucked the ruined sheets under his nose. 

His legs were open, knees splayed lazily. His dick was half interested on his thigh, just by the smell of Proko – and Jiang and Skov and Swan – on his sheet. He watched his reflection in quiet interest; quiet attraction. He watched how his ribs bared against his skin when he stretched and how the mark Proko had made on the back of his thigh the night before was bigger than it felt – all molten purples and jagged-brace teeth marks. He caught his own eyes and smirked like he was seducing, like he was going to reach forwards, touch the liquid mirror and pull himself out; fuck himself in front of the mirror. The thought made his dick twitch. 

Keeping one hand in the sheet, holding it in place by his nose – against his open mouth, saliva darkening the material, a millimetre from being properly in his mouth – his other hand moved down himself. Even if he looked down at himself he could see his reflection from the corner of his eye and he watched two images as his tattooed fingers scraped down his chest. He pulled at the nipple bar Jiang had done for him and watched his chest twitch a gasp. Kavinsky dropped his jaw down a little further, pushed the fabric of the sheet against his tongue and held it loosely with his teeth. 

His hand moved down to his dick and he traced each movement in the reflection. He looked good, sharp hip bones inviting, dick thickening on his thigh; his eyes looked wide and red and the fabric against his mouth made him look gone. His hands looked made for this; slim and tattooed – art – made a pretty contrast against his dick. The fabric in his mouth was getting wet from spit and he bit down harder.

His hand jerked his dick loosely and his pupils were dark and wide. Unconsciously he shuffled closer to his reflection. The sheet dragged from the bed easily. He dropped his forehead against the mirror and looked down at himself. He looked at his hand on his dick – and watched the mirror too – the soft blur of his hand as he jerked off. Kavinsky felt the warmth of pleasure running through his stomach; twitching electric down his thighs. 

The door made barely any noise as Prokopenko entered. Kavinsky noticed but didn’t stop, far too enamoured in himself to pay the other boy any attention. The sheet dropped from his mouth a little as he panted.

“Fuck, K,” Proko said. He got onto Kavinsky’s bed and laid on his front. “You look so good, dude.” 

Kavinsky paid him no attention. The mirror was fogging up from his panted breath and his dick was hot and wet against his palm. His senses were overwhelmed by sex; all he could smell was sweat and cum; all he could hear was the slick-slide of his hand, Proko’s muted praises and the sound of his hand, too, maybe. All he could see was himself – his reflection fucking his hand; all he could feel was his hand’s quick movements. His tongue felt heavy and his jaw sat open as he watched himself. Kavinsky felt his thighs twitch as his thumb slipped against the head. 

“Fuck, man, look at you. You arrogant fuck.” Proko was a talker. His hand was down his shorts and Kavinsky spared him a glance, eyes heated and hand moving faster. “God you couldn’t be harder could you? Bet you wish I was you, don’t you? So you could fuck yourself, don’t you? It’d be real hot, K – fuck, two of you?”

Kavinsky blanked him out. He found his own eyes again and stared, impressed by how wide his pupils were; surprised at how turned on he looked. He pushed the sheet against his mouth again and held the fabric against his tongue as his hand quickened – the noises he made were muffled by the red sheet, but vanity made him want to hear himself. He moved the sheet again and soft, almost dainty gasps fell from his mouth. 

His hand was a blur; his stomach twitched and his thighs shook as he came. Cum skimmed his stomach and his reflection looked debauched and gone; cum sticky and pink, wet mouth hung open in a gasp. 

“Fuck,” Kavinsky groaned. 

He lay back on the carpet and skimmed his fingers down his stomach, through the cum and tried to stop his thighs shaking. He wanted to do it again.

**Author's Note:**

> please tell me what you thought !! <3
> 
> i'm ivarrboneless on tumblr if u want to talk or send some ideas !


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